Books and music
Ciprian Voicilă
 

When I started asking myself why Nirvana Fans where hanging around with their boots unlaced and why at the middle of the night, during the ?trash hour? the rockers were hitting each other as if in a savage dancing I felt that I was contemplating new horizons.

That was around 1993 and I was fifteen. I was in search for myself. I firstly found myself in Sven Hassel?s books, a Danish who ended up in a Natzi marching regiment, in the 27 shellproof machines regiment. His books were published one after another at Nemira publishing house: Liquidate Paris, The OGPU Prison, Comrades of War, Assignment Gestapo, Monte Cassino, SS General, The March Battalion.

Every two weeks I used to go to the city centre where I knew that the book salesmen were gathering. I used to wait for them shivering, from around six in the morning. I was shyly getting closer and asking if some new books from Seven Hassel were for sale. In the twelfth grade I used to wrap myself in a sheet during summer time. I had the Romanian language and literature commentaries at sight and under the sheet Monte Cassino, recently reedited by Nemira. Sven Hassel?s books on the war managed to install a durable peace between me and my stepfather, whom I used to pass them on to with enthusiasm.

In some afternoon I watched a movie with two old men on TV. One of them was dead funny. Completely bald, baby-faced, he was sitting on one side of a bed, talking. He was soliloquising. Delivering a speech about some authors I had never heard about: Platon, Kant, Eliade, Nae Ionescu. His liveliness was contrasting with the shabby, kind of dead room he was in. The second old man had a deep-wrinkled rebellious face, and ruffled hair. He was stammering. The two used to be very good friends when they were young and they were complimenting each other. The former was saying that the latter was the most lucid man he had ever met and that he was hoping to make peace with Apostle Pavel till the end of his life because he had made him wrong in one of his writings (The Temptation of Being). The latter was saying that the former was the only true genius he had ever met. The first one was Petre }uţea and the second Emil Cioran. The film on the two of them was called Admiration Exercise and had been produced by Gabriel Liiceanu.

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